Lost Souls
by harllett
Summary: [Miracle] Mark Johnson is quiet, reserved and understanding. Alex Morrison is outspoken, wild…and lost. Can the Wisconsin native help the Minnesotan girl find herself, her life, and her dreams?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing in this chapter. Although I wish Mark Johnson was mine.

**Rating** : R. I'm playing it safe, as later this story will have some pretty dark themes. Drug use, sex, bad language etc…if it offends you, then I apologise, but just don't read it.

**Summary** : Mark Johnson is quiet, reserved and understanding. Alex Morrison is outspoken, wild…and lost. Can the Wisconsin native help the Minnesotan girl find herself, her life, and her dreams?

**Author's Note** : Well, I've had this idea buzzing around in my head all day, and although I'm working on my other Miracle fic "Divided" I've decided to go ahead and crack on with this. Also, I have an unhealthy obsession with Mr. Mark Johnson, so any excuse to write about him is fine by me.

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Prologue 

Everybody should have a dream. Some people think that dreams are unhealthy – if not achieved, the dreamer can become miserable and disillusioned. However, having a dream can be the focus of someone's life, giving them purpose and direction, and most importantly hope. Hope and belief that there is something amazing that you can achieve is the foundation of a happy and successful life. Achieving the dream results in such explicit, unadulterated joy, that it has to be worth it – that split second of pure, unaffected bliss as you achieve your dream makes up for all the heartache that may have gone along with fighting for the dream.

Mark Johnson was somebody with a dream. His ambition was to be the best hockey player he could be; his dream was for this to be good enough to play in the NHL, and to play in the Olympics. He believed that it could happen, but not that it would.

He was a man of two halves – he followed his heart, and believed that it could lead him to the achievement of his dreams, but he also used his head. It was this rational side that made him work as hard as he possibly could at becoming the best hockey player possible. However, just using one's head isn't enough, and luckily he listened to his heart. It was this dual action which found him sitting on a plane on a bright summer afternoon, headed to Minnesota for the 1980 Olympic hockey team tryouts.


	2. OC

**Disclaimer** : Nope, still not mine. _(Sob)_

* * *

**Chapter 1 : OC**

"….Johnson," Craig Patrick read out. Mark exhaled in a sigh of relief, tilting his head back and silently thanking God for him making the team. He barely heard the rest of the roster being reeled off; the next thing he knew, Herb was making his way down the steps, delivering stern words about how hard they would have to work. Mark wasn't particularly scared, he was used to working his ass off to succeed, especially in hockey.

Craig took over, showing the guys what they'd have to do that night. Then they were free to go. Mark descended the bleachers, Robbie McClanahan slapping him on the back in congratulations. They both grabbed a copy of their homework, and a quick scan of it showed it to be a psychology test.

"What do we need a psychology test for?" Mark asked, bemused. "You ever do these at the U Mac?"

"Nope, this is a new one on me," he replied with a shrug.

"Hey, Johnson, Mac, we're going down to O'Reilly's later to celebrate and get these tests done," Buzz Schneider told them as he fell into step besides them. "Want to join us?"

"Sure," Mark replied, "But I'm gonna do my test in my room. Don't want to screw it up."

"Same," Mac agreed. "How about I come over to your room when I'm done and we can head down together, meet the guys there."

"Sounds good to me…we'll see you later Buzzy." Buzz nodded and jogged off to catch up with the rest of the guys.

**XX**

Mark scratched his head with the end of his pen as he studied the next question. The whole test seemed pretty pointless, but he didn't want to do anything that would make Herb think he wasn't up to the job. A sharp knock on the door broke his concentration.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Mac."

"Come on in."

Mac entered the room with his customary swagger and grin. "You not done with your test yet?"

"Give me five minutes, I've only got three more."

Mac sat down on the other bed in Mark's room and grabbed a koosh ball from the table, tossing it back and forth as he waited. All the players trying out had been put in dorm rooms at the University of Minnesota for the week – now the roster had been selected the players would soon be moving into different rooms with each other, on the same corridor.

A few minutes later Mark threw the test down on the bed. "Done," he announced. "Give me a second to get ready." Uncoiling his limbs, he stood up and stretched, before dropping his sweat pants and pulling on a pair of jeans instead. He grabbed a blue plaid shirt from his closet and slipped it on over the white t-shirt he was wearing, then took his wallet from the table and stuck it in his back pocket.

Snatching up his keys he flicked the catch on the door and waited for Mac to leave and then followed him from the room, letting the door click shut behind him.

The bar was only a two-minute walk from the University, making it very popular with students. In term time it was so crowded it took about half an hour just to order a round of drinks, but as it was summer vacation the bar was relatively quiet. Mac entered the bar with his usual confidence and looked round, grinning a welcome at his friends. Mark followed quietly, glancing around, and instantly spotting a divide between the Boston boys and those from Minnesota. He felt pretty awkward being in the middle, as a Wisconsin boy.

"Hey, Rizzo," Mac greeted the Boston forward, raising a hand to him. Mark winced inwardly – that simple gesture was sure to cause friction. As Mac headed to the bar to get drinks, Mark sat down shyly at the rowdy Minnesotan table. After a few minutes he started to feel dizzy – he'd had a headache all day, and the bright lights and buzz of conversation were serving only to worsen it.

Excusing himself, Mark slipped outside into the parking lot, the cool night air instantly refreshing him. After a few seconds of peace the door to the bar slammed open, and a familiar blonde stormed out.

"Jack?" he called. Jack O'Callahan span round, searching to see who had spoken. Mark stepped out of the shadows. "You OK?

"Not if you call me Jack. Only my mother calls me that. I'm OC."

"Sorry, Ja - OC."

Jack released a sigh and rubbed his forehead. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just pissed off."

"Why?"

"'76."

"'76?"

"You never heard about it?" Mark shook his head. "McClanahan threw a cheap shot, I got thrown out…I'd always wanted to win a National Championship, but he screwed me over."

"Ah. I see why you're pissed. But it was three years ago…"

"I can only let it go once I've got revenge. I can't let it lie." He suddenly remembered that Mark had just been standing outside on his own. "What're you doing out here anyway?"

"Just getting some air. You heading home?"

"I was, but I'm not in the mood. I'm gonna go on to somewhere else, make my own fun. You coming?"

Mark was about to decline when he noticed the glint in OC's eye. He hadn't known Jack that long, but liked to think of himself as a pretty good judge of character. The judge in him was screaming out that Jack O'Callahan was a guy who could get himself in an awful lot of trouble with his brazen, devil-may-care attitude. As his team-mate, it was Mark's responsibility to make sure he came to no harm.

"Sure," Mark replied with a sigh. "Just let me tell the guys what's going on."

"What are you, twelve?" OC rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving now, if you're coming then you'll go with me." He started to walk off, true to his word.

'_What'd I do to get landed with the emotional screw-up?'_ Mark asked himself as he dutifully followed along. OC in this mood clearly wasn't to be messed with.

They meandered in silence down the street, reaching the town in a few minutes. The town was eerily quiet, with not many nighttime revellers on the street. A few bars were open, but OC bypassed them all.

"Where are we actually headed?" Mark asked. He was tired after a day on the ice and could quite happily go home and to bed. He was already sick of the aimless wandering. OC shrugged.

"No clue," he replied with a smirk. "Somewhere we can have a few drinks, a few laughs, maybe pick up a few women…would you like that Johnson?" He shot a sideways glance at Mark.

"No."

"Are you gay, Johnson?"

"No."

"Scared of what Herb would think?"

"No."

"Going to answer my questions any better than saying no?"

"No." Eventually, Mark cracked a smile. "I'm just not into that, OC. Picking up girls in bars, shagging them, and then forgetting their name I mean."

"But Marky, that's half the fun of being a hockey player! Hell, its half the fun of life."

"Each to their own, OC," Mark replied with a roll of his eyes. "And it's Mark. Not _Marky_."

"You wanna try this place?" OC asked, seemingly bored with the conversation. They were standing by the entrance to a bar. Suspicious bouncers were guarding the door, whilst a neon sign above it flashed the word "Sonny's."

"I don't know, it looks kinda seedy," Mark said slowly. OC flashed him his trademark cocky grin.

"Perfect."

The two showed the bouncers their ID before heading down a dimly lit corridor in the direction of the pulsing music they could hear. Emerging into the bar, they blinked at the sudden eruption of light, and then both their jaws dropped to the floor.

Their eyes were fixated on the sight in front of them as they surveyed what they had just walked into, mouths still open in shock. OC regained control of his senses first and clapped a hand against Mark's back.

"Well, Marky my man," he said with a grin, "Looks to me like we just found Minnesota's premier strip joint."


	3. Sonny's

**Disclaimer** : 'The girl at the bar' is mine. Nothing else.

Author's Note : So, I returned from my fanfiction abscence and found this chapter uploaded and ready to go. So here it is.

It's been so long I've pretty much forgotten where I was going with this. But, I like it. So I'm going to try and carry on. But it may take a while to update as I'll be working out where it's going all over again. I hope you enjoy this installment for now!

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**Chapter 2 : Sonny's**

"No shit OC," Mark replied, when he found his voice again. He suddenly realised exactly what he was staring at and quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks flushing pink. "C'mon, lets get out of here."

"Are you kidding me?" OC looked at him in bemusement. "You seriously want to leave?"

"Yeah, of course. I hate places like this."

"Er, Johnson, places like this have naked chicks. What is there to hate?"

"I just do."

"Are you sure you aren't gay?"

Mark emitted a slight growl. "No, OC, I'm not gay. I just find the idea of women selling their bodies pretty disturbing, and damn right wrong. And depressing, come to think of it."

OC was staring at him, almost as if he expected him to laugh and say "Gotcha!" But he didn't. "Whatever, Johnson." OC shook his head. "Run back home like a good little boy if you want, I'm staying here."

Mark now knew that he'd been spot on with OC's attitude. He could also tell that when in search of some fun, he could be extremely stubborn, and would only do what he thought would be good entertainment. In the mood he was in now, a strip club seemed to be OC's idea of perfect entertainment. But Mark could also tell he was way out of his depth.

'_Dammit OC, why'd you have to bring me here,'_ he thought. _'I'm such an idiot; I coulda just left him at O'Reilly's. But nooo, I had to play the hero.'_ Although he was berating himself, Mark knew deep down that he could never have let OC walk off alone from the bar. And he knew just as well that he couldn't leave him here.

As OC headed to the bar for drinks, Mark went to grab a table. He chose one as far away from the dancing poles as possible. He'd never been in a place like this before, and didn't know what to expect, but he was uncomfortable as hell.

As he perched on a chair, ready to flee at the first hint of trouble, his gaze settled on OC at the bar. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on the surface, talking to the barwoman. She didn't seem particular interested as she filled a pitcher with beer for him, and once she'd taken his money moved straight onto the next customer. OC shook his head as he returned to Mark.

"Mardy cow," he muttered. "All I did was ask if she'd be up there next." He gestured to a pole that was erected on the bar. As if summoned by his words, a woman pulled herself up onto the bar, barely wearing a thong and tiny bikini top. The song changed to an upbeat tempo, and the men in the room cheered as she started to swing herself around the pole.

Mark barely even noticed. The girl at the bar was consuming his attention. She worked quickly and fluidly, practically turning serving the drinks into a dance. As he watched she set up a row of shot glasses and grabbed a bottle of liquor, tossing it in the air and catching it with the other hand before twirling it round in her fingers, flicking up the lid, and pouring it into the glasses.

After a few seconds, OC noted the intense focus of Mark's eyes. Thinking he was staring at the pole dancer he grinned, nudging him. "I thought you didn't like the idea of women being cheapened like this."

"Huh? Oh, no, I don't. I wasn't looking at her."

"Then who?"

"The barwoman." Mark groaned inwardly as the words slipped out. _'Idiot.'_ As he had expected OC latched onto the comment right away, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eye and a smirk at his lips.

"You're hot for the chick working the bar? Go give it a shot, you might have better luck than me."

"Not hard," he shot back. "At least I know how to talk to girls."

"Except you don't, because you never pick them up."

"Fine. I know how to talk to girls who aren't slutty enough to let themselves be picked up in a bar by some hotshot hockey player."

"Wow, you do have anger issues after all. I knew you must do, being a hockey player and all…it just took OC's master charm and wit and get it out of you."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself."

"So are you gonna go talk to her?"

"Hmmm, let me think about it…._no_."

OC reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. "Go buy a round, Johnson." Mark started to protest. "Go!"

Grumbling to himself about being a pushover, Mark dragged himself from his seat and crossed the room, trying to avoid making contact with the other customers. He felt so sleazy just being in the place.

Stepping up to the bar, Mark suddenly realised the gyrating thronged bottom of the pole dancer was mere inches from him head. He quickly took a few steps sideways, before the girl behind the bar turned to him.

"What can I get ya?" she asked, no hint of a smile on her face. In fact, she looked positively fierce. Her blue eyes were icy, her face hard.

It took Mark a moment, but he quickly realised she wasn't fierce – she was detached. Her features were soft behind the steely glare, her eyes would no doubt melt to the blue of a summer sky in a different situation, and her blonde hair, though scraped back now, would frame her face. The pink streaks through the bottom layer were sure to look cute rather than edgy. She was detaching herself from the situation, pretending she didn't care that she was working in a place where women sold their bodies for a quick buck, where men ogled her and probably tried to convince her to join the dancers at the poles. Another moment, and Mark had worked out that she wasn't that kind of girl.

"Hello?" she asked impatiently. "I ain't got all night ya know."

"Oh, sorry," he stammered, his attention snapping back to her words. "Can I get a pitcher of beer?"

"Sure thing." She grabbed an empty pitcher from the shelf behind her, then stuck it under the tap. She glanced up the bar – there were no other customers waiting. Looking back at Mark, she seemed to be contemplating whether to strike up conversation or not. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. I'm from Wisconsin."

"So what brings you to a place like this?"

"A place like Minnesota? Or a place like this bar?"

"Minnesota," she replied with a slight smile.

"I tried out for the Olympic hockey team."

"You make it?"

"Yeah."

"You seem a little scrawny for a hockey player."

"Doesn't hold me back," he shrugged.

"Now, the bar. You seem like a nice kid – what're you doing at a seedy dump like this?"

"My team-mate…he's kinda gone off the rails a little tonight," Mark told her, gesturing towards OC. The girl's eyes narrowed.

"You're with that jerk?"

"I said he was my team-mate, not my friend."

The girl finally cracked the first real smile Mark had seen. He decided it suited her. "You have attitude."

"You sound surprised."

"I am. No offence, but you come across as kind of a wimp."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I mean – oh, I can't explain it. You're different to everyone else that comes in here. Quieter, shyer, politer. You haven't tried to chat me up or slip me some cash, which normally happens. Which is a good thing."

"You don't like people slipping you cash?"

"Not for what they're trying to get me to do for it. Just cos I work at this place doesn't mean I want to pimp myself out. I come to work, I serve some drinks, I pick up the pay cheque that I've earned, and I go home. I don't want anything more. And anyone who tries to get anything more from me can get the fuck outta here."

"Nice way of thinking."

"Don't be sarcastic, it doesn't suit you."

"I wasn't!" he protested. "Honestly."

"Hmmm." She eyed him suspiciously. "I believe you. Anyway, I gotta go serve these perverts. I'll see you around." She started to move away, then turned back. "Well, actually, I don't expect you'll ever come back to this shit hole. And I don't blame you."

"I'd come back to see you."

"Don't push your luck," she warned him, but was clearly trying to suppress laughter. "I just told you, I don't like guys who hit on me. And I was just starting to like you, which doesn't happen around here very often."

"I'll count myself lucky then."

"So you should, er…"

"Mark," he supplied. There was a silence. "This is the part where you give me your name?"

"I said I was starting to like you, not that you're important enough to know my name." She winked at him and moved up the bar to the waiting customers.

Sighing, Mark picked up the pitcher and made his way back to OC. Luckily, he hadn't got himself into any trouble while Mark had been away. The next hour was whiled away drinking beer, and by Mark refusing to answer any of OC's questions about what had happened at the bar. He kept insisting there was nothing to tell.

Eventually, much to Mark's relief, OC got bored and decided to call it a night. Thankful that this whim of his was ending, and still wishing he'd never been caught up in it, Mark followed him out into the cool night air. They walked back along the front of the building that housed the bar. It was a long building, split into several different places inside. An alleyway ran down the end and then down the back, serving all the places that were housed inside. As Mark and OC passed the end of the alleyway, they heard a shriek.

Looking at each other, their eyes silently questioned what it was. The sound came again, this time a full-blown scream. Mark suddenly registered that it was a girl screaming, and without thinking he ran down the narrow alley. At the end he found a pile of black bin bags, with two guys in dark clothing leaning over them. Realising a girl was being pushed down by the two men, Mark grabbed the jacket of the nearest one, trying to haul him back. He whirled around, lashing out with his arm, catching Mark across the face. Mark stumbled back into OC, but quickly reattempted stopping the men. OC was at his side, but the two were hopelessly outweighed. Luckily, help was at hand.

The two bouncers from the entrance to the bar had been alerted by the scream, and the disappearance of Mark and OC. Hurrying down the alley, they used their considerable size to grab hold of the two assailants and drag them away from Mark, OC and the girl. With a sigh of relief, Mark quickly turned to the victim, who was sobbing quietly on the pile of bin bags. One of the bouncers shone a torch into the dark corner, and it was with shock that Mark realised the girl was the girl from the bar.

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**A/N** : I'm enjoying writing this story sooooooo much! I'm glad you guys like it too.

**Klinoa** : YAY for Johnson fics! Wahoo. He's so cute to write. I love the fact that with focusing on him, I can have the way he acts with other people, but then the way he thinks as well, which is different to how he is outwardly….

**Hockeyfan68** – Johnson fic, woot ! It is certainly going to be a rocky ride! Should be an interesting one though. And he is such a cutie!

**Emador** : Intriguing still?

**Meadow567** : Hmmm. I was really confused about the rating – I've made it PG13, as although there will be some issues in it, it won't be explicit etc. There may be one or two chapters which will specifically be rated R though. If anyone thinks the rating should go back up, please tell me!

**Killerkeanegirl** : A strip club just seemed like it would be fun :) and yay, we can be Johnson loving buddies together….hehe.


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